Until I See the Sun
by Vintage Tea Party
Summary: "He still heard John's screams ringing in his ears and he hoped that it was something he never had to hear again. Just the memory of them was enough to unsettle him." After a particularly dangerous case, John suffers from night terrors. Will Sherlock be able to comfort him? Will he be able to find out what is really troubling John? Just friendship. Rated T for mild violence only
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock ran down the hall and crouched inside a doorway hiding from his pursuers. Gunshots rang out all around him. _Where is John? _In all the commotion Sherlock had lost him. He was trying to make out exactly what had happened; it had all happened so quickly. Sherlock had had such a clear idea of how the night was going to play out but it had not gone that way at all. He was certain the suspect was acting alone but he had backup, backup that Sherlock and John weren't prepared for. Sherlock assumed that John would be just fine. John had the gun. Sherlock, however, did not.

Sherlock and John had been investigating a particularly dangerous murder case. John had practically smiled when Sherlock had told him it could be dangerous and that John should bring his gun. Sherlock and John had tracked the suspect to an abandoned warehouse where Sherlock was sure they could capture him long before Lestrade and his men could manage to make an appearance. But the suspect had caught on and had been prepared for them. When Sherlock and John had realized what had happened they separated in attempt to confuse the attackers. But that was quite a while ago and Sherlock had yet to see John. He actually took it as an assurance that he continued to hear gunshots in the distance; if John had been hit there would be no more.

He wasn't entirely sure he had lost the enemy but the gunshots seemed to be more distant. Sherlock snuck a look around the corner. Down the hall he saw John. John spotted him too "Sherlock!" and started running towards him. Sherlock felt the shot before he even heard it or saw it. The impact hit him heavily in the arm and he staggered to the ground just a few feet from John. Blood ran down his arm and he gripped it with his other arm and ducked back in the door way.

John's mouth dropped open in alarm for a second before he snapped back. He lifted his gun and searched for the attacker but he was already gone. Instead of pursuing him like Sherlock would have wanted him to, John ran to his side instead. "Sherlock are you alright?"

"I'm fine, its not a serious wound," and it wasn't. The bullet had landed in Sherlock's arm but he could tell it was superficial. John ripped Sherlock's shirt a bit to get a better look at it but he could not conceal the look of horror on his face.

"You're not fine! You've been shot," John was practically screaming and seemed frozen in place. He was starting to lose it.

"Please John, get a grip on yourself." He'd never seen John like this. He knew John was upset but he couldn't become unglued right now. John always was extremely steady in high pressure situations. He liked them even. He never panicked but he was very close to it now.

Sherlock heard the cop cars outside and was glad for it. Everything about this night was going wrong and he couldn't wait for it to be over.

* * *

Sherlock and John returned home several hours later, with Sherlock sporting a newly stitched and bandaged arm. It'd been superficial as he had assumed and he hardly thought it warranted a trip to the A&E but John had been so insistent that Sherlock hadn't wanted to argue with him. When Sherlock had started to protest John had looked at him and spoke with such intensity Sherlock had been caught off guard. "Can't you just take care of yourself for once, Sherlock?" The way he looked at Sherlock and the tone in his voice said that he was mad. Sherlock had to admit that the evening was a distressing one but could John really be mad at him? It certainly hadn't been Sherlock's intention to get them into such a situation.

Whatever John was thinking, Sherlock had agreed to treatment and had suffered hours waiting in the A&E with the masses, which he hated. John, who should have been happy since he was getting what he wanted, said barely a word the entire time. He'd hardly even looked at Sherlock. Sherlock had only been living with John for a few months but he knew that both of these things were very unusual. Usually John hovered constantly. He was always nagging Sherlock to take of himself, always trying to get him to eat and sleep and other tedious things. He thought that John would have had lots to say about a gunshot wound but he didn't.

Sherlock hadn't felt the need to fill the silence so they waited in silence, only broken by the doctors and other medical professionals as they'd x-rayed, stitched and bandaged his arm. The bullet had just grazed the outside of his arm, missing the bone, and it wasn't very deep, so it had been easy to remove. They'd given Sherlock some medicine and sent him and John home. Again, he would have thought John would have been happy or at least relived but John was still clearly upset. Even on the way home when things should have felt lighter, John sat in silence.

Sherlock could tell he was mad. Sherlock wasn't sure he deserved it but at he could at least understand it. Sherlock hated making mistakes and he had made a very large mistake on this case one that had ended up in the shoot off they had experienced early that evening. Sherlock could understand that John might be mad at him for landing them in such a dangerous situation; he was so _emotional _at times. But Sherlock hardly thought he deserved the cold shoulder. Sherlock hated mistakes more than anyone; he didn't need someone reminding him that he'd made one.

But Sherlock decided that if John was going to get mad and stew over it then he could go right ahead and do it. If John wasn't going to bring it up Sherlock surely wasn't. John was the one that always wanted to talk about _feelings _and if he didn't want to talk now Sherlock surely didn't want to. When they got to the flat Sherlock went straight to the kitchen and made some tea. His arm, which hadn't hurt in the heat of the moment, was starting to feel the pain as the excitement of the night was wearing off. He really just wanted to relax and try to figure out how he had made the error on this case. He didn't particularly want to talk to John but he thought it would be obviously rude to not even offer, so he asked "Any tea for you?"

John was just standing in the middle of the living room just looking off into the distance. Sherlock wasn't sure that John was going to respond at first but after a minute of silence he did though he still didn't look at Sherlock when he did. "No. I'm going to bed."

Sherlock watched as John walked slowly toward the stairs up to his room. Sherlock was having a hard time making sense of John's behavior. He and John had been in a number of compromising situations already in the few months they'd been working together and he'd never seen John act this way. Granted, none of them had been quite this bad but he had never seen John react this way to danger. From the moment they met he knew that John thrived on danger. But what he saw tonight was fear.

The anger was clearly written all over. His face was flushed and he wore an almost constant frown. That, coupled with his clenched fists and the tone of voice he'd used with Sherlock clearly indicated that he was angry. Anyone could have made such an obvious deduction. But the fear was a little harder to see and most people would have missed it. His eyes showed fear. When his hands weren't clenched they shook a little. While they waited in the A&E his leg had shook up and down intermittently which showed he was anxious.

Sherlock made his tea and filled a cup with it. He took it and sat down in his chair by the fireplace. So much was wrong about this evening. His mistake on the case was very troubling but he also had to admit to himself that John's behavior was equally troubling. John had gotten angry plenty of times but it was over minor things like not going to the grocery store or taking the trash out. But never over something that had involved Sherlock's work. And Sherlock didn't like the feel of it.

Sherlock sipped his tea slowly and sank deep into thought.

* * *

Sometime later, Sherlock was deep inside of his mind when horrible screams jarred him back to reality. Given the line of work he was in, he couldn't say that he had never heard such screams. But when he thought about the situations that had elicited such screams bad things came to mind. A person only made sounds like that when they were in terrible danger or pain. And these screams were coming from a grown man. That was even worse. But not just any man. These screams were coming from John.

Sherlock's feet were on the floor and running before his mind could even finish the thought. John was screaming in absolute terror at the top of his lungs. How long had he been like that and Sherlock had missed it? He mentally chastised himself for going so deeply inside his mind.

Sherlock was at John's door in a matter of seconds prepared for a fight. But he was not prepared for what he actually found there. He threw open the door to find John thrashing wildly about in his bed. His bedside lamp was on, which Sherlock thought was odd given John was asleep, and it cast haunting shadows on John's face. John was having a horrible nightmare. He twisted his body back and forth and tore at the sheets. He continued to scream. Sherlock was frozen for a second as he watched John's terror. He knew that John use to have nightmares but he had never witnessed one himself.

Sherlock ran to the bed and put his hands on John's shoulders. It was hard to keep hold of him but he tried to shake him. "John! John, wake up!" He screamed to be heard over John, anything to wake him up, but John did not hear him. If anything it appeared to make things worse. John acted as if he were being attacked. He bolted upright in bed and grabbed Sherlock's hands and tore at them. He went from screaming in general to screaming "No!" over and over and over again.

Sherlock dropped his hands immediately but not before John had managed to leave some really nasty scratches on his hands. Sherlock hovered over John "John! Its Sherlock! Its me, Sherlock! Wake up!" he said it over and over again but John did not hear him. He hesitated to touch him again since he did not want to make things worse.

Sherlock didn't know what to do. John remained sitting up in bed and continued to scream. This did not appear to be a just night mare. John's actions were too intense to be a nightmare and Sherlock should have been able to awaken him if it were a night mare.

Suddenly, the events of the night began to piece together. Post traumatic stress, yes, that had to be it. Of course, he should have noticed the signs at once. Their dangerous encounter earlier in the evening had brought memories of the war back to John. Sherlock felt bad that he had made the wrong assumptions. He just had not thought that John had suffered from the condition.

Sherlock stood nervously by the bed. What did someone do when someone was having a nightmare? He'd tried to wake up John; that's what you were supposed to do right? But it hadn't worked. What did you do then? Sherlock didn't even dream. Dreaming was something that normal people's minds did with all the excess and poorly organized information that they filled their heads with. He had no experience with nightmares himself and he had never been around someone who suffered them.

_Think, Sherlock, think._ Blunt force had not worked. Sherlock searched his mind, his memories, books he'd read, things people had said, for a clue as to what might help John. _Oh._ A distant memory came to mind. That was it. People often comforted someone who was having a nightmare. Nightmares caused strong emotional responses in those who suffered from them such as an overwhelming sense of anxiety and terror, so it was appropriate to comfort them in some way. But how could Sherlock comfort John?

Sherlock wasn't good at comforting. It just wasn't something that he did and he was torn about what he should do for John. At that moment, almost as if he could hear Sherlock's thoughts, John cried out "Help me! No! Someone help me."

That was all. Sherlock put aside his own feelings and sat on the bed beside John. He grabbed him, rather forcibly since there was no other way to grab someone who was thrashing about like John was, and held him close. John continued to thrash around for a few moments more, unaware of where he was or what was really going on, trapped in a dark world that Sherlock could not see. But Sherlock held him close and eventually his struggling got weaker and weaker. He whipped his head back and forth and Sherlock took one of his arms and pulled John's head close to his chest, against his heart.

After a while, the screaming stopped replaced with a most pitiful sounding whimpering. John was suddenly gasping for air, his body catching up to all the screaming he had been doing. Now that he wasn't struggling so much Sherlock could loosen his grip a little so it was less like he was binding John down. He kept one hand on John's head holding it to his chest and the other on his back rubbing back and forth. John grabbed at Sherlock's shirt and held a fist full of it in his hand. He felt John gasping for a while but he eventually could tell the by the rhythm of his breaths that he had fallen into a normal sleep though his grip remained tight on Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock was relived that John had finally found his way out of whatever terrifying dream had taken hold of him. He had to admit it troubled him to see John this way. John had been so out of it that he hadn't even awoken or became aware of where he really was. Sherlock wasn't familiar with nightmares but he was pretty sure that wasn't normal. He didn't like seeing John's mind being held hostage by fear

He was also glad that he had been able to find a way to make John calm down. It felt very strange to be in John's bed holding him close to his chest like this but Sherlock had had no other idea what to do. Besides, it had worked and that's really all he cared about. Hopefully, John would awake and make a joke about it and they could have a good laugh and forget that this night had happened.

Sherlock thought about getting up now that John was a sleep. His heart rate had finally slowed down as had his breathing and he was limp against Sherlock. But Sherlock was afraid to move because he really didn't want to disturb John and possibly upset his sleep again. He reached over and turned the light off before laying himself and John down. He hoped that this would be the last of it. He still heard John's screams ringing in his ears and he hoped that it was something he never had to hear again. Just the memory of them was enough to unsettle him. But something told him that this was only the beginning of dark and long night.

**Any guesses as to what's going on in John's head? Please read and review-my stories feel lonely without it.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock hadn't looked at the clock but he knew that only an hour passed since John had fallen into normal sleep. Sherlock hadn't slept or even tried to. He had just listened to John's quiet breathing in the darkness. He was surprised to find that it was comforting to him after seeing John in such distress. But every time John stirred the slightest against him Sherlock was on the alert. Each time he had found that John was still asleep.

Sherlock had thought about the episode that John had earlier. It had been too intense to be a normal nightmare and after a second of contemplation he had arrived at the correct conclusion. John had a night terror most likely brought on by post traumatic stress. Night terrors were common enough in those who suffered from the condition but he had never been aware that John suffered from PTSD. Everything he saw indicated that John thrived on danger. But something about this night had been different; there was something else Sherlock didn't see yet.

John began to stir and Sherlock could feel John's heart rate elevating and hear his breathing increase and knew that John was not as restful as he had been. Sherlock started to rub John's back again "Its alright John. You're fine. You're safe," he whispered.

"Dark…can't see…help," John whispered, growing more fidgety. "Dark…dark…help."

Sherlock realized with a start that John was afraid of the darkness and quickly turned on the light again. He should have known better. John must have had the light on for a reason. He'd obviously been troubled before and had slept with it on.

"Dark…so dark…" John didn't seem to know that the light was on just like he didn't seem to know anything else that was going on. "Can't see…can't see…"

"John, the light's on. You can see. Open your eyes. John, open your eyes," Sherlock said trying to reassure John. He hoped that eventually what he was saying would get through to John. People were often highly suggestible in their sleep so he hoped that by telling John to open his eyes eventually he would do just that. But he didn't.

He didn't seem to hear anything that Sherlock was saying and he was growing more and more anxious by the minute. But Sherlock kept talking to him hoping that he would come out of his terror. "Just relax."

John wasn't screaming like he had before but he was struggling quite a bit. He suddenly pushed away from Sherlock and grabbed his shoulder and gritted his teeth. His face was twisted in pain and he was fighting the urge to scream. It was the shoulder he said he had injured in Afghanistan. He must be dreaming about that injury.

Sherlock reached out and began rubbing John's shoulder. John flinched at first and let out a small cry of pain but he relaxed a little. Sherlock knew that John's shoulder wasn't injured but he did feel the tension that was there. John's muscles were knotted up in stress. Sherlock took one of his hands and put it on John's other shoulder, kneading away the knots. To his relief, something he was doing was finally working. John didn't act like he was in pain anymore and he was relaxing under Sherlock's hands. Sherlock spent a while working out the knots on John's shoulders and neck and on his back. John was quiet and becoming more and more relaxed. It felt good to find something that appeared to be a solution and Sherlock was glad he had studied up on the subject once.

Sherlock was hopeful John was asleep and was just about to stop when, all of a sudden, John started sobbing uncontrollably. Sherlock was so taken back by it that he froze for a second. Crying made Sherlock uncomfortable to say the least. It didn't make any sense and he never knew what to do when people were doing it. And John wasn't just crying; he was sobbing. Sherlock had never seen John cry and it bothered him. Sherlock felt something bubbling in his chest, like liquid bubbling up in a test tube, threatening to spill over. He realized that it was panic.

This night was threatening to overwhelm him. Having to watch John suffer this range of extreme emotions was almost becoming too much for Sherlock. He always ran from emotions and he was tempted to do so now. He wouldn't have stayed even this long for anyone else. So, what was he doing here still? He thought about leaving and returning to safety of the living room where he could escape far into his mind again and be alone. After all, John didn't even know Sherlock was here.

_No_, he told himself. He would not give into this silly emotion. He would not allow it control him in any way. Sherlock Holmes didn't _panic_. And he couldn't leave John for some reason anyway. The sobbing made him uncomfortable but something wouldn't let him leave. It didn't matter that John didn't know he was there or not. John couldn't help it; Sherlock knew he would never act this way if he were conscious. He couldn't imagine the dark world that John was in that caused him to be in such agony. Logic told Sherlock that none of this was real. Nothing that John was seeing or feeling was real so it didn't matter. But Sherlock knew better than that; it was real for John and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Sherlock just couldn't turn his back on John. He knew why it was; John was special. It sounded so sentimental and he would never admit it to anyone but it was true. Until he had met John he had not know what that nagging feeling deep in his soul had been. He had always ignored it, knew it was an emotion of some kind, and had pushed it farther down, never bothering to identify it. It wasn't until John had shown up and chased it away that Sherlock knew what it had been; He had been lonely. It didn't happen often. Sherlock was a solitary man and he liked it that way. Most of the time. He hadn't felt lonely often but it was there. Before John.

Sherlock had known right away that there was something different about John. The moment he had seen him he was curious about him. This was a man he wanted to know. That didn't often happen with Sherlock. People were so ordinary, so boring, that they rarely ever peaked his interest. John was ordinary of course, but he was not boring. Sherlock could see right away, this was a man who liked danger, who thrived on it. Against his better judgment, Sherlock had felt hopeful. Maybe this was someone who wouldn't run away from the unusual life that he lived. And even more alarmingly, he found that he wanted John to find him interesting too.

John hadn't run away in terror when he had met Sherlock which was rare. Sherlock remembered that first day they had met and being worried that John would not show up the next day to look at their flat at 221B. Sherlock had made a full and revealing deduction about John within minutes of meeting him. He had figured it was best to get it over with. Most people were turned off by it and he just wanted to find out what kind of person John Watson really was. When John had shown up that next day Sherlock had been pleased. Still, he had never expected more than a flat mate. Sherlock had been only hoping to find someone who could stand to live with him. He had not expected that John would become his partner on cases. He had never expected to make a friend.

Sherlock had never thought he would have someone who cared like John seemed to. Someone who pestered him to take care of himself and eat and sleep. Someone who could tell when something was bothering him. Someone who actually liked hearing his deductions. Someone who could actually tell when Sherlock was lying. He had never thought he would have wanted those things but he found that he enjoyed it.

Even after the excitement of that first case, which had proved that John was different than anyone Sherlock had ever known, Sherlock still kept waiting for it; waiting for John to leave. Everyone did. Eventually, Sherlock did or said something that made people leave. The people that were still in his life were the ones that didn't know him well. But as the weeks turned into months Sherlock realized that John wasn't going to leave him. He knew he was difficult to live with but John put up with it. And Sherlock wasn't going to turn his back on John the first time that he was being difficult. John followed Sherlock into danger without a second thought and Sherlock owed him the same. If he had to stay up until the sun came up then that's exactly what he would do.

John was still sobbing. It was times like these that reminded Sherlock that he did, in fact, have a heart, because the sound of John's sobs was doing something to it. He tuned John towards him and held him closer. "Its alright John. Its alright."

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," John said through his tears. "I didn't mean to."

What was going on inside John's head? He didn't know if John could hear him or not but he tried whatever he could to console his friend. "I know John. Its alright."

"I'm so sorry."

Sherlock knew that there was still a lot about John's past that he did not know. Somehow this night was connected to a memory of John's military career which Sherlock didn't know much about. He knew that most men who had served in the military did not like to talk about their time spent there once they were out and John was no exception. John never brought it up and Sherlock didn't ask. Sherlock had always assumed that if John wanted to talk about it he would; he did make a habit of making himself heard when he wanted to talk about something. But now he wished he knew a little bit more about the life that John had lived before they met.

John cried for a long time and Sherlock realized there was nothing he could say that could console him. Eventually, John calmed down though Sherlock could tell he was still distressed.

Sherlock thought about how John liked to hear him play the violin. John hadn't said as much but Sherlock could tell. When John was stressed and Sherlock started playing he could see that his breathing slowed and the frown lines on his forehead disappeared. He knew that it made John feel better. John became stressed a lot so Sherlock had observed this on more than one occasion. Sherlock wished that he was able to play now but that was out of the question with John still in his arms, still gripping him for dear life.

So, Sherlock began humming a song that he was pretty sure was John's favorite. He had noticed that John seemed to smile a little every time he played it. And to Sherlock's surprise it seemed to help. John seemed to relax in his arms and Sherlock could tell he was on his way to normal sleep again. His face was still red and covered in tears so Sherlock used the edge of sheet to brush away the tears.

The night began to catch up with Sherlock. His arm, which he had forgotten about, was now burning from the exertion he had put it under. The scratches on his hands also didn't feel too good either. They had blood crusted on them and Sherlock couldn't help smiling a little. He had to give it to John; he was a heck of a fighter even in his sleep. The case, his injured arm, and the stress of the night with John was taking its toll on Sherlock and he felt the fatigue that didn't often visit him. He knew that John was sleeping normally now and he hoped there would not be another incident. He hummed the song over and over again until he also fell asleep.

**Aww, I love a caring Sherlock because I think he does care more than he lets on. Thanks to all of you who are reading, following and favoriting. Also, thank you for the reviews-they make my day! One more chapter to come. **


	3. Chapter 3

_Pain. Fear. Panic. That was what John knew for sure. Who he was looking for that was what he didn't know. He was surrounded by smoke that burned his eyes and he could barely see. The air was hot and dusty and his fatigues clung uncomfortably to his body. Shots rang out all around him but it did not stop him. He was looking for someone but he couldn't remember who. Why couldn't he remember who? But he was desperate to find them. The gun was heavy in his hands and his shoulder hurt. Had he been shot? He was pretty sure he had but it did not deter him. He saw a fellow solider fallen on the ground and ran to him. He turned the man over and it was not who he thought he was. Though he had not known who he was looking for he knew with certainty this wasn't right. The long, slender form of him should have been a clue it wasn't who he expected. But the brown curls surrounded the blood covered face he could not see told him who it was. It was Sherlock. That wasn't right, he shouldn't be here. John shook him but he didn't move. He was too late. He wasn't alive. "Sherlock!" he screamed. _

Sherlock was deep in sleep when he heard his name being called. He knew it was coming from John and it sounded so urgent that it was quickly bringing him out of his groggy mindset. That's why he didn't like sleeping; it did strange things to your mind and made it hard to think. John sounded so close. Sherlock opened his eyes and realized he was in John's bed with John. What?

It took a second but then he remembered the night before and the cloudiness faded away. John was sitting up in the bed and his eyes were open. Sherlock hoped that he was finally awake. Sherlock sat up beside him. "John, I'm right here."

"Sherlock?" John looked around, confused.

"Yes, John I'm right here."

John, for the first time, acknowledged what Sherlock said and turned towards him. "Sherlock?"

"Its alright John." Sherlock could tell that John could hear him but that John still wasn't all the way there. He still looked terrified at something Sherlock didn't understand. He was taken aback when John suddenly wrapped his arms around him and put his head against his shoulder. John had never hugged Sherlock and it surprised him. But it was not entirely unpleasant experience. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John.

"John, are you alright? What is going on?"

"Dead…dead…"

"Who's dead?"

"Sherlock"

"John, I'm not dead. I'm right here. Its me, Sherlock."

Sherlock sat like that with John for a long time while John seemed to be thinking about something. "Are you alright?" John asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. Are you alright?"

John didn't answer the question. But in a minute Sherlock felt John stiffen in his arms and pull away. Sherlock was relieved when he saw, like a light being switched on, the light come back in John's eyes, and he knew John was finally awake.

John looked around the room and then at Sherlock and jerked back a little. "What…what's going on?"

With John awake and fully conscious, Sherlock instantly felt ridiculous that he was in John's bed with him. His cheeks were hot and to his horror he realized that he was blushing. _Blushing!_ How ridiculous!

He got up quickly and stood beside the bed. "You were having night terrors," he managed to reply calmly. John was breathing quickly and was shaking slightly. He was still clearly upset even though he was awake and looked to on the edge of losing it. Sherlock suddenly felt the need to give John some privacy to compose himself. "Let me get you some tea. I'll be right back."

Sherlock took longer to make the tea than was necessary so that John would have time to calm down. Now that John was awake, it felt like an invasion of privacy to witness his emotions. When he came back John was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking exhausted, but fully awake and much calmer. Sherlock pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down with his own cup of tea and handed John the one he'd brought for him. Sherlock pretended not to notice when the mug shook slightly in John's hands.

After he took a sip, John spoke. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." They sat in silence for a moment longer before Sherlock spoke again. "Do you remember anything that happened?" Sherlock hoped John could explain what had happened to him in the night. Sherlock had never seen anyone act like that and despite himself he was curious. He so wanted to understand what had brought on the terror that John experienced. He hoped that it was something they could identify and cure; he hated to think that this lifestyle was becoming too much for John.

"I can't really remember much…"his voice trailed off as he tried to think about it. Then he looked at Sherlock curiously. "What happened?"

"You were screaming so I came to see what was going on. I tried to wake you up but you wouldn't wake up. I tried to talk to you but you didn't seem to hear what I was saying most of the time."

John looked around self-consciously and Sherlock figured he would spare John the details of the night. Sherlock knew that John would be terribly embarrassed if he knew the full extent of his reactions to the nightmares. He could tell that John was trying hard to remember what had happened. John knew there was more to the story than that but he didn't press for details and Sherlock was glad.

The early morning light was just starting to stream in the window. "Did you stay in here the whole night?" John asked glancing at the clock and seeing the hour.

"Yes."

"You really stayed in here the whole time?"

"Yes. Why?" Sherlock began to wonder if maybe that wasn't what John wanted. Maybe John would have wanted to be alone.

"I'm just surprised. I would have thought that wasn't really your area."

"Its not. But I tried as best as I could to…console you." Sherlock looked away uncomfortably. He hadn't thought anything of all he had done to comfort John. But now that John was awake talking about it, it felt strange.

John looked around uncomfortably too. "What did I say…What did I do?"

Sherlock didn't like to recall the events of the night but he scrolled through them in his head. "When I first came in you were screaming. You were afraid and combative. Then you fell asleep for a while. Then you woke up again, you complained that it was dark, you acted like your shoulder, the one you had injured in Afghanistan, was hurting like you had just injured it. Then you were apologizing to someone."

John was deep in thought, surely searching for memories and not finding them. "I remember the fear, but I don't know what I was dreaming about." Then he paused before he said "I'm sorry."

Sherlock was confused. "Why?"

"Because I kept you up all night. I'm sure that's the last thing you wanted after last night."

"Its fine. I slept a little." Sherlock didn't mention just how little as he fought his heavy eye lids.

"You probably needed your rest with the injury to your arm."

"Thanks, _Doctor _Watson, but I told you its fine."

"Let me see it."

Sherlock glanced down at his bandaged arm and saw that blood was starting to show on the bandages from where he had used his arms so much throughout the night. John noticed this and scratches on Sherlock's hands and got a horrified look on his face. "What did I do to you? I'm so sorry.

Sherlock brushed it off. "You were…not yourself last night. You got upset. I had to restrain you a bit. But I will be fine. You worry too much."

"You should let me clean those up."

"Please," he scoffed. "I can do that myself. I might not be a doctor but I know how to change a bandage."

"I understand that but you don't seem to understand that were shot last night." At that John paused and seemed to remember. He looked down and silence hung in the air.

Sherlock hoped that John wouldn't get angry again remembering the night before. Though he hated it, he figured it was time for an apology. Seeing how much pain the attack had caused John he felt even worse about the mistake he had made that had lead to it. But he still hated saying sorry, even though John deserved it. "John, about last night. I am sorry."

John looked completely surprised as if this was the last thing he expected Sherlock to say. "Sorry, for what?"

Now Sherlock was confused. Hadn't John been mad at him? "Well, for getting us into trouble last night."

John shook his head. "You're the one who gets shot and you're apologizing to me?"

"Yes, you were upset about it. Upset that I put you in danger. I could see you were angry."

"Sherlock…I wasn't mad at _you_."

"I don't understand. Weren't you upset that I put you in danger?"

John smiled a little now. "Danger is kind of what I signed up for when I joined you. Of course I wasn't mad at you."

Sherlock was still confused. "I don't still understand," he admitted.

John sighed and shifted nervously. "Sherlock, are you really going to make me say it out loud?"

Sherlock didn't want to look foolish and have to admit that, yes, John did need to say it plainly. So, he said nothing but John could see through that.

"Sherlock…I wasn't upset about myself in danger. I was upset about _you _in danger."

Sherlock was really confused now. Why would John be upset about him in danger? Why would it bother him? It didn't make any sense to Sherlock. "I don't understand. Why would that bother you?"

Just to add to Sherlock's confusion he saw John's cheeks flush with color. "Really, Sherlock?"

"Yes, really. I want to understand."

"Sherlock, you are so brilliant and yet…the basic sentiment you don't get. It has to be spelled out for you. I was upset because I care about you. You're my friend and I don't want anything to happen to you."

Sherlock was surprised at this revelation. He had been mistaken. He was so convinced that John had been angry at him, for putting him in such a dangerous situation. But the fear hadn't been for himself at all; the fear had been for Sherlock. Just for him? Sherlock's heart was doing something strange again. He couldn't understand it. John did that; things he said or did caused emotions in Sherlock's heart. John made him feel things he'd never felt before. Sherlock had never felt that someone actually was afraid for him. It was odd to realize that he could have such an effect on someone. For some reason he felt like he couldn't talk.

John looked uncomfortable with the silence. He looked like he thought what he had said wasn't right. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer and spoke. "Is it really _that_ hard to believe? Is that really a surprise? "

Sherlock thought it would be not good to admit that it _was _hard to believe, that he really didn't understand that someone could really be that upset, that afraid, for another person. It was hard for him to believe that anyone could really care that much for _him. _He didn't want to admit that he hadn't really understood John's feelings for him. So, he decided to take the conversation in another direction.

"That's just not what I expected you to say. I thought you were mad at me for putting you in danger. I thought that our particularly _eventful _night had triggered post traumatic stress and that was what brought on the night terrors."

"Oh," John said and he looked thoughtful. "Well, you didn't get it entirely wrong." For a while he didn't speak. "I don't have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But last night did bring back some of my memories of the war. When you got injured…I thought about how much worse it could have been. It made me remember…" John stopped.

"John, you don't have to…"

"No, its alright. After last night I suppose I owe you an explanation." John paused again before telling his story. Something clouded over John's face and Sherlock saw that this story did not have a good outcome.

It took a while, but finally John spoke. "When I was in Afghanistan I saw lots of guys get killed. It didn't feel normal but it was common. But there was one time it did really bother me. I met Daniel the first week I was overseas. We were both new and we got a long real good. We decided to keep an eye on each other, you know, watch each other's backs. At that point, he was the best friend I'd ever had."

John paused and Sherlock could tell it was hard for him to talk about it, so he said nothing and waited patiently. "It was almost time for him to go home. I was staying on longer but he was getting married so he wasn't going to keep on. We were in a terrible battle. Somehow, we got separated and by the time I found him…it was too late. He was already gone and there wasn't anything I could do for him. I ended up get injured that same day and being sent home."

John was still looking down and it was a long time before he continued. "I know it wasn't my fault. I know I couldn't protect him from everything…but it sure didn't feel that way when I had to face his fiancé. To see her at his funeral…I just knew I had failed. I'd finally made a friend and I lost him. He was in danger and there was nothing I could do to help him"

Sherlock appreciated that John had shared his story with him because he knew that it must have been hard for him. But he didn't want to admit he really didn't see how that past experience connected with the experience their current situation. Emotions and sentiment always made him feel stupid because he couldn't explain them; he didn't understand them at all.

He was relieved when John finally looked at him. "I don't think about it a lot anymore. But last night…when I said I wasn't mad at you I meant it. I was mad at myself. Mad that I wasn't there when you needed me."

"John…"

"I know. Its not my job to protect you. I'm not even sure that's possible, but…last night, seeing you injured like that…it was the first time that I realized…I mean I thought about how hard it had been to lose him and I couldn't…"

Whatever John was trying to say he was having a hard time. He looked like he hoped that Sherlock would understand, to fill in the lines for him, but Sherlock didn't know what John was trying to say. "What is it John?" he quietly urged.

"It was just the first time that I really realized that I could lose you, that something could happen to you. And I just couldn't imagine what it would be like if that were to happen."

Sherlock didn't know what to think, didn't know what to feel. All of this fear had been directed at him? All night he had wondered what had brought fear to the man who was never afraid. All night he had wondered what the difference with this night was as opposed to all the others they'd faced. The difference was him. Sherlock wasn't sure what he expected the answer to be but this was not it. What had brought the terror on was not that John might die himself; it was that he might have to watch Sherlock die. Strange emotional responses were happening in his body. He couldn't identify them. He'd never seen such concern directed at him and he didn't know how to cope with it.

He knew he should say something. But he couldn't. And John seemed to know it. Knew that Sherlock didn't know what to say but knew it meant something to him. Knew that he cared too and that he had done more for John that night than he was admitting to.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for everything. Even though I don't remember it I'm sure it helped."

"I'm not sure it helped much."

"It helps now," John said giving Sherlock a serious look.

"You're welcome," he said meeting John's eyes. A loud yawn from John broke the seriousness of the mood and he and Sherlock laughed a little.

"How is it possible that I am still tired?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly restful sleep."

"That's for sure. You must be exhausted."

For once, Sherlock didn't feel like pretending he wasn't tired. "I'm a little tired. So, if you'll excuse me," he said getting up and starting to make his way for the door.

"Wait," John said stopping him.

"What?"

John hesitated. "Never mind."

"What is it John?"

"Could you…could you sit with me? Just until I fall asleep?"

Sherlock felt like smiling. John was nervous to ask, like it was too big a thing to ask. After the night they'd had this was the least that Sherlock could do. So, he sat back down and said "Sure."

It didn't take John long to fall asleep but Sherlock sat watching him for a long time. He watched the peaceful face of his friend, the almost childlike one that you only see when someone is asleep. Sherlock delighted in the fact that there was no fear or stress written there. He watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Sherlock could tell that he was sleeping soundly and peacefully now.

Sherlock knew he had a lot to learn about friendship. It didn't yet make sense to him that's John's fear for Sherlock was what had triggered such a terrifying night. John had never had such a powerful reaction to fear for himself but it was the danger that Sherlock had been in that had made this time different. It also didn't make sense to him that, even though John had been mostly unaware of the comfort that Sherlock was giving him throughout the night, Sherlock didn't regret the fact that he'd been there. Just to be here with him now, watching his peaceful sleep, and learning what he had, was reward enough.

The sun was well up before Sherlock got up and left the room to finally get some sleep himself.

**That concludes "Until I See the Sun." Thank you so much to all who favorited, followed, and reviewed. Please let me know what you thought. I have several stories in the works so be on the lookout ****:)**** And check out my latest story "Sometimes He Makes Me Sick." **


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